I walk
in
pulsating
hollowness,
pretending
to
breathe in
morse code,
-•••
•
•-••
---
•••-
•
-••
breaking
against
lung cages
day and night
as if
my body only
knew one
symphony
to
be smeared
onto the
camera-eye.
[...]
I walk • i.
forgiveness cocoons his eyes like confetti; she bathes in his party. ii. they, fractured strangers swirled in ash, surrender to cherry blossomed aches. iii. drowning in tart sor- row, hoping you'll still need a curly-haired miracle. iv. we run the streets leaving playground letters: i regret the stars. v. i bribe ghosts with hope: desperate, false, high and filled with bones, broken and fresh. vi. proud shadow, dreamy hollow hanging children - eternal ivory hour stained glass angels wine
memory's hips; bodies spare change, numbing altars They fuck to politics
with magnificent mess. Sell the love - kiss.fuck.attitude. Hey There Poets and Readers,
My fellow poets, do you ever have those poems that you would never share with the world because they are either too personal, they may not be appropriate to show in certain circles, or they just suck? I have quite a few and while these are works that I rather not show, there are some great lines I really want to share. Not every poem is meant for the world and you are in control with what you share. You don't have to share a whole poem to show that you have written. With that said, here are some of my lines from the X-Files (if you know me, you know what this means): Politics "It's the I become a babbling mess and everything I keep working towards goes out the window because you make me want to get on my knees and beg, pray, suck your cock - look up at you like you are the majestic king." Accountability - Part II "How do I stop myself from wanting your name in my womb? " The Hunt "It's another day in the life of me. 7:23 AM, brushing my teeth, calculating time while listening to my poetry gods. They remind me to lick the dawn in between my fingers as I storm out of the house. That if I do not get the job and have wasted a day in my Ashley Stewart, Lane Bryant, Avenue combo, I still have the beauty of you under my tongue. So I'll sit for a moment in my borrowed Queens apartment and pray that one day, I will sit on the steps of Brooklyn again. I will get the chance to love you again, my god, poet." Phases
I am purple drums beating to the smirks of opening acts that have nothing to do with the play, a forward of Ara humming Dawn Richard while meeting you in panties, converses and breasts, loaded pistol to the hips. I am the teacher with the ranch-styled house, cat, bicycles in driveway, bananas on counter, canned corn next to the sack of potatoes and ham for dinner, switching on ABC 7 for Grey's Anatomy, tweeting quotes from my iPhone. I am a jug of Water mixed with nitrogen, a long and lingering secret love in Helvetica Bold under autumn leaves in Queens, a cup of tea tucked between a stack of literary magazines and poetry by Amber Tamblyn. Hello Poetry fiends,
Last Friday, I was at an event for the Deep Tanks series in Staten Island. I've never been in the borough and was already fascinated, but creeped out about being in an unfamiliar place. At some point, I was getting ready to send a text message several times, but backed out of the inbox many times. When I was finally ready to write the message, I saw that there was text already there. I started to delete it, thinking it was something I copied and pasted from earlier when I realized that none of it made sense. I really wished that I didn't delete part of it. But I do have the rest. Guess the poetry gods said that a poem was going to be written one way or another that night. Check it out: The elders about the hunger walk please call 130 we Chicago Days global lending day honey red willow gave by pipe in about 10 gray yellow bile text das West lifted and pray your ride home Guess everyone is a poet, including the iPhone. Probably won't be going to SI for a while if this is what happens! Hello my lovely readers, I realized that I have take a few workshops in the past year, but I haven't shared my poems. I'll be sharing some throughout the rest of this journey, on top of lines from the bone pile (which you'll have to wait for a few posts before I get to that). So without further ado, some poetry!: Alone
11:45 p.m. glow of television outlines cup of rice pudding rice congealed in cinnamon, milk - no name brand representing thousands of Latinas and lips, looking for satisfaction late night calls for, stretching toes on the side of bed no one sleeps in, TV falling into a buzz as I scrape last lumps sticking to the bottom of cup. Hey Haiku Lovers, If you like haiku and being on your phone, you can do both with the Heyku app. With Heyku, you can write each line according to a prompt the app gives or write in your own. Then you get to share it as a lovely little note with the Heyku community and on your social networks. Take a look at some of the screenshots below to get a feel of the app. You can visit the Heyku website and download the app for free for the iPhone from there. |
Christina D. RodriguezA Latinx poet and entrepreneur who blogs about poetry, music, writing, and life. Archives
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